Containing the Sequel of the Midshipman's Disaster
MAJOR BAGSTOCK, after long and frequent observation of Paul, across
Princess's Place, through his double-barrelled opera-glass; and after receiving
many minute reports, daily, weekly, and monthly, on that subject, from the
native who kept himself in constant communication with Miss Tox's maid for that
purpose; came to the conclusion that Dombey, Sir, was a man to be known, and
that J. B. was the boy to make his acquaintance.
Miss Tox, however, maintaining her reserved behaviour, and frigidly declining
to understand the Major whenever he called (which he often did) on any little
fishing excursion connected with this project, the Major, in spite of his
constitutional toughness and slyness, was fain to leave the accomplishment of
his desire in some measure to chance, `which,' as he was used to observe with
chuckles at his club, `has been fifty to one in favour of Joey B., Sir, ever
since his elder brother died of Yellow Jack in the West Indies.'
It was some time coming to his aid in the present instance, but it befriended
him at last. When the dark servant, with full particulars, reported Miss Tox
absent on Brighton service, the Major was suddenly touched with affectionate
reminiscences of his friend Bill Bitherstone of Bengal, who had written to ask
him, if he ever went that way, to bestow a call upon his only son. But when the
same dark servant reported Paul at Mrs. Pipchin's, and the Major, referring to
the letter favoured by Master Bitherstone on his arrival in England--to which he
had never had the least idea of paying any attention--saw the opening that
presented itself, he was made so rabid by the gout, with which he happened to be
then laid up, that he threw a footstool at the dark servant in return for his
intelligence, and swore he would be the death of the rascal before he had done
with him: which the dark servant was more than half disposed to believe.
At length the Major being released from his fit, went one Saturday growling
down to Brighton, with the native behind him; apostrophizing Miss Tox all the
way, and gloating over the prospect of carrying by storm the distinguished
friend to whom she attached so much mystery, and for whom she had deserted him.
`Would you, Ma'am, would you!' said the Major, straining with vindictiveness,
and swelling every already swollen vein in his head. `Would you give Joey B. the
go-by, Ma'am? Not yet, ma'am, not yet! Damme, not yet, Sir. Joe is awake, Ma'am.
Bagstock is alive, Sir. J. B. knows a move or two, Ma'am. Josh has his
weather-eye open, Sir. You'll find him tough, Ma'am. Tough, Sir, tough is
Joseph. Tough, and de-vilish sly!'
And very tough indeed Master Bitherstone found him, when he took that young
gentleman out for a walk. But the Major, with his complexion like a Stilton
cheese, and his eyes like a prawn's, went roving about, perfectly indifferent to
Master Bitherstone's amusement, and dragging Master Bitherstone along, while he
looked about him high and low, for Mr. Dombey and his children.
In good time the Major, previously instructed by Mrs. Pipchin, spied out Paul
and Florence, and bore down upon them; there being a stately gentleman (Mr.
Dombey, doubtless) in their company. Charging with Master Bitherstone into the
very heart of the little squadron, it fell out, of course, that Master
Bitherstone spoke to his fellow-sufferers. Upon that the Major stopped to notice
and admire them; remembered with amazement that he had seen and spoken to them
at his friend Miss Tox's in Princess's Place; opined that Paul was a devilish
fine fellow, and his own little friend; inquired if he remembered Joey B. the
Major; and finally, with a sudden recollection of the conventionalities of life,
turned and apologised to Mr. Dombey.
`But my little friend here, Sir,' said the Major, `makes a boy of me again.
An old soldier, Sir--Major Bagstock, at your service--is not ashamed to confess
it.' Here the Major lifted his hat. `Damme, Sir,' cried the Major with sudden
warmth, `I envy you.' Then he recollected himself, and added, `Excuse my
freedom.'
Mr. Dombey begged he wouldn't mention it.
`An old campaigner, Sir,' said the Major, `a smoke-dried, sun-burnt, usedup,
invalided old dog of a Major, Sir, was not afraid of being condemned for his
whim by a man like Mr. Dombey. I have the honour of addressing Mr. Dombey, I
believe?'
`I am the present unworthy representative of that name, Major,' returned Mr.
Dombey.
`By G--, Sir,' said the Major, `it's great name. It's a name, Sir,' said the
Major firmly, as if he defied Mr. Dombey to contradict him, and would feel it
his painful duty to bully him if he did, `that is known and honoured in the
British possessions abroad. It is a name, Sir, that a man is proud to recognise.
There is nothing adulatory in Joseph Bagstock, Sir. His Royal Highness the Duke
of York observed on more than one occasion, `there is no adulation in Joey. He
is a plain old soldier is Joe. He is tough to a fault is Joseph:' but it's a
great name, Sir. By the Lord, it's a great name!' said the Major, solemnly.
`You are good enough to rate it higher than it deserves, perhaps, Major,'
returned Mr. Dombey.
`No, Sir,' said the Major. `My little friend here, Sir, will certify for
Joseph Bagstock that he is a thorough-going, down-right, plain-spoken, old
Trump, Sir, and nothing more. That boy, Sir,' said the Major in a lower tone,
`will live in history. That boy, Sir, is not a common production. Take care of
him, Mr. Dombey.'
Mr. Dombey seemed to intimate that he would endeavour to do so.
`Here is a boy here, Sir,' pursued the Major, confidentially, and giving him
a thrust with his cane. `Son of Bitherstone of Bengal. Bill Bitherstone formerly
of ours. That boy's father and myself, Sir, were sworn friends. Wherever you
went, Sir, you heard of nothing but Bill Bitherstone and Joe Bagstock. Am I
blind to that boy's defects? By no means. He's a fool, Sir.'
Mr. Dombey glanced at the libelled Master Bitherstone, of whom he knew at
least as much as the Major did, and said, in quite a complacent manner,
`Really?'
`That is what he is, Sir,' said the Major. `He's a fool. Joe Bagstock never
minces matters. The son of my old friend Bill Bitherstone, of Bengal, is a born
fool, Sir.' Here the Major laughed till he was almost black. `My little friend
is destined for a public school, I presume, Mr. Dombey?' said the Major when he
had recovered.
`I am not quite decided,' returned Mr. Dombey. `I think not. He is delicate.'
`If he's delicate, Sir,' said the Major, `you are right. None but the tough
fellows could live through it, Sir, at Sandhurst. We put each other to the
torture there, Sir. We roasted the new fellows at a slow fire, and hung'em out
of a three pair of stairs window, with their heads downwards. Joseph Bagstock,
Sir, was held out of the window by the heels of his boots, for thirteen minutes
by the college clock.'
The Major might have appealed to his countenance, in corroboration of this
story. It certainly looked as if he had hung out a little too long.
`But it made us what we were, Sir,' said the Major, settling his shirt frill.
`We were iron, Sir, and it forged us. Are you remaining here, Mr. Dombey?'
`I generally come down once a week, Major,' returned that gentleman. `I stay
at the Bedford.'
`I shall have the honour of calling at the Bedford, Sir, if you'll permit
me,' said the Major. `Joey B., Sir, is not in general a calling man, but Mr.
Dombey's is not a common name. I am much indebted to my little friend, Sir, for
the honour of this introduction.'
Mr. Dombey made a very gracious reply; and Major Bagstock, having patted Paul
on the head, and said of Florence that her eyes would play the Devil with the
youngsters before long--`and the oldsters too, Sir, if you come to that,' added
the Major, chuckling very much--stirred up Master Bitherstone with his
walking-stick, and departed with that young gentleman, at a kind of half-trot;
rolling his head and coughing with great dignity, as he staggered away, with his
legs very wide asunder.
In fulfilment of his promise, the Major afterwards called on Mr. Dombey; and
Mr. Dombey, having referred to the army list, afterwards called on the Major.
Then the Major called at Mr. Dombey's house in town; and came down again, in the
same coach as Mr. Dombey. In short, Mr. Dombey and the Major got on uncommonly
well together, and uncommonly fast: and Mr. Dombey observed of the Major, to his
sister, that besides being quite a military man he was really something more, as
he had a very admirable idea of the importance of things unconnected with his
own profession.
At length Mr. Dombey, bringing down Miss Tox and Mrs. Chick to see the
children, and finding the Major again at Brighton, invited him to dinner at the
Bedford, and complimented Miss Tox highly, beforehand, on her neighbour and
acquaintance. Notwithstanding the palpitation of the heart which these allusions
occasioned her, they were anything but disagreeable to Miss Tox, as they enabled
her to be extremely interesting, and to manifest an occasional incoherence and
distraction which she was not at all unwilling to display. The Major gave her
abundant opportunities of exhibiting this emotion: being profuse in his
complaints, at dinner, of her desertion of him and Princess's Place: and as he
appeared to derive great enjoyment from making them, they all got on very well.
None the worse on account of the Major taking charge of the whole
conversation, and showing as great an appetite in that respect as in regard of
the various dainties on the table, among which he may be almost said to have
wallowed: greatly to the aggravation of his inflammatory tendencies. Mr.
Dombey's habitual silence and reserve yielding readily to this usurpation, the
Major felt that he was coming out and shining: and in the flow of spirits thus
engendered, rang such an infinite number of new changes on his own name that he
quite astonished himself. In a word, they were all very well pleased. The Major
was considered to possess an inexhaustible fund of conversation; and when he
took a late farewell, after a long rubber, Mr. Dombey again complimented the
blushing Miss Tox on her neighbour and acquaintance.
But all the way home to his own hotel, the Major incessantly said to himself,
and of himself, `Sly, Sir--sly, Sir--de-vil-ish sly!' And when he got there, sat
down in a chair, and fell into a silent fit of laughter, with which he was
sometimes seized, and which was always particularly awful. It held him so long
on this occasion that the dark servant, who stood watching him at a distance,
but dared not for his life approach, twice or thrice gave him over for lost. His
whole form, but especially his face and head, dilated beyond all former
experience; and presented to the dark man's view, nothing but a heavy mass of
indigo. At length he burst into a violent paroxysm of coughing, and when that
was a little better burst into such ejaculations as the following:
`Would you, Ma'am, would you? Mrs. Dombey, eh, Ma'am? I think not, Ma'am. Not
while Joe B. can put a spoke in your wheel, Ma'am. J. B.'s even with you now,
Ma'am. He isn't altogether bowled out, yet, Sir, isn't Bagstock. She's deep,
Sir, deep, but Josh is deeper. Wide awake is old Joe--broad awake, and staring,
Sir!' There was no doubt of this last assertion being true, and to a very
fearful extent; as it continued to be during the greater part of that night,
which the Major chiefly passed in similar exclamations, diversified with fits of
coughing and choking that startled the whole house.
It was on the day after this occasion (being Sunday) when, as Mr. Dombey,
Mrs. Chick, and Miss Tox were sitting at breakfast, still eulogising the Major,
Florence came running in: her face suffused with a bright colour, and her eyes
sparkling joyfully: and cried,
`Papa! papa! Here's Walter! and he won't come in.'
`Who?' cried Mr. Dombey. `What does she mean? What is this?'
`Walter, Papa!' said Florence timidly; sensible of having approached the
presence with too much familiarity. `Who found me when I was lost.'
`Does she mean young Gay, Louisa?' inquired Mr. Dombey, knitting his brows.
`Really, this child's manners have become very boisterous. She cannot mean young
Gay, I think. See what it is, will you?'
Mrs. Chick hurried into the passage, and returned with the information that
it was young Gay, accompanied by a very strange-looking person; and that young
Gay said he would not take the liberty of coming in, hearing Mr. Dombey was at
breakfast, but would wait until Mr. Dombey should signify that he might
approach.
`Tell the boy to come in now,' said Mr. Dombey. `Now, Gay, what is the
matter? Who sent you down here? Was there nobody else to come?'
`I beg your pardon, Sir,' returned Walter. `I have not been sent. I have been
so bold as to come on my own account, which I hope you'll pardon when I mention
the cause.'
But Mr. Dombey without attending to what he said, was looking impatiently on
either side of him (as if he were a pillar in his way) at some object behind.
`What's that?' said Mr. Dombey. `Who is that? I think you have made some
mistake in the door, Sir.'
`Oh, I'm very sorry to intrude with any one, Sir,' cried Walter, hastily:
`but this is--this is Captain Cuttle, Sir.'
`Wal'r, my lad,' observed the Captain in a deep voice: `stand by!'
At the same time the Captain, coming a little further in, brought out his
wide suit of blue, his conspicuous shirt-collar, and his knobby nose in full
relief, and stood bowing to Mr. Dombey, and waving his hook politely to the
ladies, with the hard glazed hat in his one hand, and a red equator round his
head which it had newly imprinted there.
Mr. Dombey regarded this phenomenon with amazement and indignation, and
seemed by his looks to appeal to Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox against it. Little
Paul, who had come in after Florence, backed towards Miss Tox as the Captain
waved his hook, and stood on the defensive.
`Now, Gay,' said Mr. Dombey. `What have you got to say to me?'
Again the Captain observed, as a general opening of the conversation that
could not fail to propitiate all parties, `Wal'r, stand by!'
`I am afraid, Sir,' began Walter, trembling, and looking down at the ground,
`that I take a very great liberty in coming--indeed, I am sure I do. I should
hardly have had the courage to ask to see you, Sir, even after coming down, I am
afraid, if I had not overtaken Miss Dombey, and--'
`Well!' said Mr. Dombey, following his eyes as he glanced at the attentive
Florence, and frowning unconsciously as she encouraged him with a smile. `Go on,
if you please.'
`Aye, aye,' observed the Captain, considering it incumbent on him, as a point
of good breeding, to support Mr. Dombey. `Well said! Go on, Wal'r.'
Captain Cuttle ought to have been withered by the look which Mr. Dombey
bestowed upon him in acknowledgment of his patronage. But quite innocent of
this, he closed one eye in reply, and gave Mr. Dombey to understand by certain
significant motions of his hook, that Walter was a little bashful at first, and
might be expected to come out shortly.
`It is entirely a private and personal matter, that has brought me here,
Sir,' continued Walter, faltering, `and Captain Cuttle--'
`Here!' interposed the Captain, as an assurance that he was at hand, and
might be relied upon.
`Who is a very old friend of my poor uncle's, and a most excellent man, Sir,'
pursued Walter, raising his eyes with a look of entreaty in the Captain's
behalf, `was so good as to offer to come with me, which I could hardly refuse.'
`No, no, no,' observed the Captain complacently. `Of course not. No call for
refusing. Go on, Wal'r.'
`And therefore, Sir,' said Walter, venturing to meet Mr. Dombey's eye, and
proceeding with better courage in the very desperation of the case, now that
there was no avoiding it, `therefore I have come, with him, Sir, to say that my
poor old uncle is in very great affliction and distress. That, through the
gradual loss of his business, and not being able to make a payment, the
apprehension of which has weighed very heavily upon his mind, months and months,
as indeed I know, Sir, he has an execution in his house, and is in danger of
losing all he has, and breaking his heart. And that if you would, in your
kindness, and in your old knowledge of him as a respectable man, do anything to
help him out of his difficulty, Sir, we never could thank you enough for it.'
Walter's eyes filled with tears as he spoke; and so did those of Florence.
Her father saw them glistening, though he appeared to look at Walter only.
`It is a very large sum, Sir,' said Walter. `More than three hundred pounds.
My uncle is quite beaten down by his misfortune, it lies so heavy on him; and is
quite unable to do anything for his own relief. He doesn't even know yet, that I
have come to speak to you. You would wish me to say, Sir,' added Walter, after a
moment's hesitation, `exactly what it is I want. I really don't know, Sir. There
is my uncle's stock, on which I believe I may say, confidently, there are no
other demands, and there is Captain Cuttle, who would wish to be security too.
I--I hardly like to mention,' said Walter, `such earnings as mine; but if you
would allow them--accumulate--payment--advance--uncle--frugal, honourable, old
man.' Walter trailed off, through these broken sentences, into silence: and
stood, with downcast head, before his employer.
Considering this a favourable moment for the display of the valuables,
Captain Cuttle advanced to the table; and clearing a space among the
breakfast-cups at Mr. Dombey's elbow, produced the silver watch, the ready
money, the teaspoons, and the sugar-tongs; and piling them up into a heap that
they might look as precious as possible, delivered himself of these words:
`Half a loaf's better than no bread, and the same remark holds good with
crumbs. There's a few. Annuity of one hundred pound prannum also ready to be
made over. If there is a man chock full of science in the world, it's old Sol
Gills. If there is a lad of promise--one flowing,' added the Captain, in one of
his happy quotations, `with milk and honey--it's his nevy!'
The Captain then withdrew to his former place, where he stood arranging his
scattered locks with the air of a man who had given the finishing touch to a
difficult performance.
When Walter ceased to speak, Mr. Dombey's eyes were attracted to little Paul,
who, seeing his sister hanging down her head and silently weeping in her
commiseration for the distress she had heard described, went over to her, and
tried to comfort her: looking at Walter and his father as he did so, with a very
expressive face. After the momentary distraction of Captain Cuttle's address,
which he regarded with lofty indifference, Mr. Dombey again turned his eyes upon
his son, and sat steadily regarding the child, for some moments, in silence.
`What was this debt contracted for?' asked Mr. Dombey, at length. `Who is the
creditor?'
`He don't know,' replied the Captain, putting his hand on Walter's shoulder.
`I do. It came of helping a man that's dead now, and that's cost my friend Gills
many a hundred pound already. More particulars in private, if agreeable.'
`People who have enough to do to hold their own way,' said Mr. Dombey,
unobservant of the Captain's mysterious signs behind Walter, and still looking
at his son, `had better be content with their own obligations and difficulties,
and not increase them by engaging for other men. It is an act of dishonesty and
presumption, too,' said Mr. Dombey, sternly; `great presumption; for the wealthy
could do no more. Paul, come here!'
The child obeyed: and Mr. Dombey took him on his knee.
`If you had money now' said Mr. Dombey. `Look at me!'
Paul, whose eyes had wandered to his sister, and to Walter, looked his father
in the face.
`If you had money now,' said Mr. Dombey; `as much money as young Gay has
talked about; what would you do?'
`Give it to his old uncle,' returned Paul.
`Lend it to his old uncle, eh?' retorted Mr. Dombey. `Well! When you are old
enough, you know, you will share my money, and we shall use it together.'
`Dombey and Son,' interrupted Paul, who had been tutored early in the phrase.
`Dombey and Son,' repeated his father. `Would you like to begin to be Dombey
and Son, now, and lend this money to young Gay's uncle?'
`Oh! if you please, Papa!' said Paul: `and so would Florence.'
`Girls,' said Mr. Dombey, `have nothing to do with Dombey and Son. Would you
like it?'
`Yes, Papa, yes!'
`Then you shall do it,' returned his father. `And you see, Paul,' he added,
dropping his voice, `how powerful money is, and how anxious people are to get
it. Young Gay comes all this way to beg for money, and you, who are so grand and
great, having got it, are going to let him have it, as a great favour and
obligation.'
Paul turned up the old face for a moment, in which there was a sharp
understanding of the reference conveyed in these words: but it was a young and
childish face immediately afterwards, when he slipped down from his father's
knee, and ran to tell Florence not to cry any more, for he was going to let
young Gay have the money.
Mr. Dombey then turned to a side-table, and wrote a note and sealed it.
During the interval, Paul and Florence whispered to Walter, and Captain Cuttle
beamed on the three, with such aspiring and ineffably presumptuous thoughts as
Mr. Dombey never could have believed in. The note being finished, Mr. Dombey
turned round to his former place, and held it out to Walter.
`Give that,' he said, `the first thing to-morrow morning, to Mr. Carker. He
will immediately take care that one of my people releases your uncle from his
present position, by paying the amount at issue; and that such arrangements are
made for its repayment as may be consistent with your uncle's circumstances. You
will consider that this is done for you by Master Paul.'
Walter, in the emotion of holding in his hand the means of releasing his good
uncle from his trouble, would have endeavoured to express something of his
gratitude and joy. But Mr. Dombey stopped him short.
`You will consider that it is done,' he repeated, `by Master Paul. I have
explained that to him, and he understands it. I wish no more to be said.'
As he motioned towards the door, Walter could only bow his head and retire.
Miss Tox, seeing that the Captain appeared about to do the same, interposed.
`My dear Sir,' she said, addressing Mr. Dombey, at whose munificence both she
and Mrs. Chick were shedding tears copiously; `I think you have overlooked
something. Pardon me, Mr. Dombey, I think, in the nobility of your character,
and its exalted scope, you have omitted a matter of detail.'
`Indeed, Miss Tox!' said Mr. Dombey.
`The gentleman with theInstrument,' pursued Miss Tox, glancing at Captain
Cuttle, `has left upon the table, at your elbow'
`Good Heaven!' said Mr. Dombey, sweeping the Captain's property from him, as
if it were so much crumb indeed. `Take these things away. I am obliged to you,
Miss Tox; it is like your usual discretion. Have the goodness to take these
things away, Sir!'
Captain Cuttle felt he had no alternative but to comply. But he was so much
struck by the magnanimity of Mr. Dombey, in refusing treasures lying heaped up
to his hand, that when he had deposited the teaspoons and sugar-tongs in one
pocket, and the ready money in another, and had lowered the great watch down
slowly into its proper vault, he could not refrain from seizing that gentleman's
right hand in his own solitary left, and while he held it open with his powerful
fingers, bringing the hook down upon its palm in a transport of admiration. At
this touch of warm feeling and cold iron, Mr. Dombey shivered all over.
Captain Cuttle then kissed his hook to the ladies several times, with great
elegance and gallantry; and having taken a particular leave of Paul and
Florence, accompanied Walter out of the room. Florence was running after them in
the earnestness of her heart, to send some message to old Sol, when Mr. Dombey,
called her back, and bade her stay where she was.
`Will you never be a Dombey, my dear child!' said Mrs. Chick, with pathetic
reproachfulness.
`Dear Aunt,' said Florence. `Don't be angry with me. I am so thankful to
Papa!'
She would have run and thrown her arms about his neck if she had dared; but
as she did not dare, she glanced with thankful eyes towards him, as he sat
musing; sometimes bestowing an uneasy glance on her, but, for the most part,
watching Paul, who walked about the room with the new-blown dignity of having
let young Gay have the money.
And young Gay--Walter--what of him?
He was overjoyed to purge the old man's hearth from bailiffs and brokers, and
to hurry back to his uncle with the good tidings. He was overjoyed to have it
all arranged and settled next day before noon; and to sit down at evening in the
little back parlour with old Sol and Captain Cuttle; and to see the
instrument-maker already reviving, and hopeful for the future, and feeling that
the wooden midshipman was his own again. But without the least impeachment of
his gratitude to Mr. Dombey, it must be confessed that Walter was humbled and
cast down. It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough
wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they
might have borne, if they had flourished; and now, when Walter found himself cut
off from that great Dombey height, by the depth of a new and terrible tumble,
and felt that all his old wild fancies had been scattered to the winds in the
fall, he began to suspect that they might have led him on to harmless visions of
aspiring to Florence in the remote distance of time.
The Captain viewed the subject in quite a different light. He appeared to
entertain a belief that the interview at which he had assisted was so very
satisfactory and encouraging, as to be only a step or two removed from a regular
betrothal of Florence to Walter; and that the late transaction had immensely
forwarded, if not thoroughly established, the Whittingtonian hopes. Stimulated
by this conviction, and by the improvement in the spirits of his old friend, and
by his own consequent gaiety, he even attempted, in favouring them with the
ballad of `Lovely Peg' for the third time in one evening, to make an
extemporaneous substitution of the name `Florence;' but finding this difficult,
on account of the word Peg invariably rhyming to leg (in which personal beauty
the original was described as having excelled all competitors), he hit upon the
happy thought of changing it to Fle--e--eg; which he accordingly did, with an
archness almost supernatural, and a voice quite vociferous, notwithstanding that
the time was close at hand when he must seek the abode of the dreadful Mrs.
MacStinger.
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